


Tourist Attraction

by bloodsweettooth



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Latino Rick, M/M, a couple of gays finely aged by a life full of mischief and crime, also butt darts will be played, gay middle-aged men, rick is 33, stan is 30, stanchez, we'll add tags as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7196957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsweettooth/pseuds/bloodsweettooth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gravity Falls is a town that attracts all kinds of weirdness, including Rick Sanchez. While wandering through the multiverse and parts unknown, Rick stumbles upon the sleepy little town in Oregon. He finds himself visiting The Mystery Shack, run by self-proclaimed "town darling" Mister Mystery, and the guy catches his interest almost as much as the oddities of Gravity Falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tourist Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Another Stanchez fic from runaway, what a surprise!
> 
> only it's not just ME working on this one, it's also the wonderful bloodsweettooth!

There was a whoosh, and a swirl of green, and Rick stepped out of the portal and into the thick muggy heat. He squinted into the bright summer sun and shaded his eyes with his hand.  Maybe his usual attire wasn’t suited for this weather.  His thin sweater didn’t seem thin enough.

  
He was beside a tall, wide building with the words “ _Gravity Falls Town Hall_ ” written above the entrance in bold black letters. He quickly shoved his portal gun in the back pocket of his unpressed khakis and started walking at a brisk pace, quickly scouring the street for anyone who could have seen him.

There was a little kid standing with a melting ice cream cone in his hand, eyes wide and curious.

“Y-you didn’t see nothin’,” Rick snapped as he passed him.

He had come to this hick town with a purpose. Well, he had a purpose wherever he went. His arrival in  _ this  _ particular part of the multiverse was a result of button-mashing and dial-spinning, but that didn’t matter. Hopefully, this wouldn’t be a waste of his time like the last dimension hop. All he found was a broken VHS tape with something “ _ to the Future _ ” scrawled on the tape, a couple of Blipz ‘n’ Chitz coins, and a Blorgazon Heat Beacon in a mason jar, now all safely stored in his canvas messenger bag, which he wished he didn’t have to carry it with him.  Where else was everything suppose to go though?

The town looked completely mundane. Finding what little action it had wouldn’t be that hard, and then it’s off to somewhere else. ‘ _ I’m too sober for this shit,’  _ was the only thought his tired mind put forth. He strode towards what looked like a diner, one hand in his pocket and the other grabbing for a flask.

\--

He found a small, greasy-spoon diner, plopped down in the worn seat of a corner booth and ordered the special for that day (pancakes with a side of hash browns). After a quiet meal and some smalltalk with the waitress, he stopped pussyfooting around. He had a job to do.

“So, w-what’s so special about this place, doll-dollface?” he spoke sweetly, slouched in the booth, an unlit cigarette behind his ear. “A-anything interesting happening ‘round here?”

“Oh, well,” Susan trailed off with a giggle. “There’s the Town Hall, the library, the hiking trails, the-- oh but most visitors go up to the tourist attraction up a ways a little northwest, but that’s not all. Some say, there are really spooky things in those woods, too! But when you get bored of that, sweet thing…” She slid a napkin over to him. Her number was scrawled on it in blue ballpoint. “Wink!” she said aloud as she did so.

Rick pressed a fake smile to his face as he winked back and took the napkin, tucking it away in his pocket. 

She smiled back, so pleased with herself, “Well I ought to get back to working!” She waved as she slipped her order pad into her apron, walking back over to the counter.

_ ‘Now let’s see here’… _ Rick unfolded the Town Map he snagged from the counter.  ‘ _ Northwest.’  _  He traced his thin fingers across the map, down a trail through the woods, to a place called… ‘ _ The Mystery Shack?’ _ Not much else stood out to him. Really, any town that had “water silo” on the map as a point of interest  _ can’t  _ be that good. This didn’t seem very appealing at all, and Rick was about to portal himself out of this shithole for good. He dropped a bit of money on the table before sauntering out of Greasy’s Diner.

\--

Rick was a little tipsy. The alcohol helped him feel loose and relaxed, and the shade from the tall trees made the fresh air a bit cooler. It also shielded him from the rain drops that had begun to fall from the dark clouds above. The dirt and gravel trail up to the Shack was not a fun two miles to walk, but it became more fun the more drunk he got. Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to have any more fun than that, his fun flask was empty.

The Mystery Shack looked shabby. It may have been converted from a house, from the looks of it. The wooden stairs creaked under Rick’s feet. A bell sounded as he pushed the door open. A man in a suit, fez, and eye patch briefly greeted him before he went back to arguing with a customer about the price of some merchandise.

Rick was disappointed, to say the least. The multiverse was far too infinite for him to be excited about a tourist trap gift shop. He was too smart to be fooled by antlers obviously glued onto a rabbit, and quite frankly everyone should be. But the sweaty idiot driving the price up and down indecisively sure was entertaining. A few minutes worth, at least. Rick leaned against the wall and folded his arms, watching with an amused smirk.

It was hard to keep track of who was saying what, but by the end of it the sweaty idiot gave the suited man $35 and scampered out the door with his t-shirt. Once the suited man tucked the money into the inside pocket of his jacket, he sauntered over at his own pace.

“Hey, a fresh face! My name is Stan Pines, also known as Mister Mystery!” He extended a hand with a huge, flashy grin. 

Rick shook it, attempting to beat him at the enthusiasm game. “Hey, Stan! I-I’m Rick! Whatcha got in here?”

Stan fell into a spiel about wonders and befuddlements, the likes of which the world has never seen. He showed Rick some of the displays near the front of the odditorium, but he didn’t get far before Rick started laughing louder than Stan could speak. 

He paused to shout over Rick. “Do you  _ mind _ ? I’m tryin’ to amaze and inspire here and you’re just bustin’ a gut!”

Rick’s face was flush with laughter, “Ohohooooooh,  _ sorry _ , I just think that a-a-a half horse, half horse is pretty st-uuuuuur-upid, that would just ma-ma-make a horse! Got anything good? A-Anything worth seeing in this dump?” He gestured vaguely, trying to indicate all of the nonsense in this building.

Stan’s teeth clenched just a bit in his wide smile. “Well, behind this curtain is where the  _ real _ magic lives!” He held it open just enough to see the darkness on the other side. “Only twenty bucks for a glimpse at the most amazing things you’ll ever see!”

“Ha, I’d l-like to see you try. If I’m not at least amused, you have-you have to give me back my twenty.” Rick held his money out.

Stan smirked and narrowed his eyes, breaking character long enough to say, “You’re on, beanpole,” as he snatched up the money and stuffed it into a pocket in his suit jacket.

Stan, with his big Mister Mystery grin, opened the curtain and gestured with a flourish. “After you!”

Rick scoffed and trailed after his “tour guide” into the dark odditorium. Once the lights flickered on, the dusty displays were visible. And laughable, for that matter. Rick blurted everything over Stan’s spiel. “Aw, shiiiiiiiiit, is that-that like a monkey corpse sewn onto a fish? Y-y-you gotta get creative, I think Ripley’s already did that!”

Stan faltered, but kept talking about every display, showing him oddities such as: The World’s Largest Toenail with matching novelty nail clippers (which were also available in the shop), Rock That Looks Like A Face Rock, a magic scepter from some movie probably… He droned on and on, and Rick always had something to say.

“And this is a scale from a real live mermaid!” He held up a large, opalescent scale. Rick seemed especially unimpressed, but then his face twisted into a devilish smirk.

“Oh woooooooow, l-look at th-uuurp-is guy. Maybe the  _ real _ mystery is why anyone-why anyone would waste their time in h-UUUURP-ere!” He reached into his bag, gesturing with his other hand as he spoke. “Ha! What kind of-of shitty excuse are you gonna use to explain THAT? What? Is the other exhibit her-her BABY? Haha!” He tried to take a swig of his flask, frowning when he rediscovered that it was empty. “What bullshit, Stan. All of this is f-fake ass shit… ”

Stan placed his wide hand across his chest, trying to look hurt. “Oh, I’m wounded! Are you questioning the authenticity of this here establishment?” He gestured broadly towards the shelves of quirky curios. “This is my life’s work! I’ve been an oddity collector for years!” He shook the scale at Rick condescendingly. “Maybe you just don’t know when you see something good.”

“Oh, okay, w-we’ll play your game--uuuuurp. Wh-wh-so where is that from?” He gestured to the scale in the Mystery Man’s hand.

He looked shocked that Rick questioned him. “Uh-... Well, this was actually a donation from a local resident. It was found in the Gravity Falls Lake, to be exact! A genuine Gobblewonker scale!” He looked pleased with himself. Cocky enough to shine his nails on his jacket and look at them like a hotshot, and that’s when Rick noticed the chip in the paint that Stan was trying to hide with his hand.

“Uh-huh, yeah, I know a scam when I see one. All you need is a l-lot of sparkles and paint, and whatdayaknow… “ He snatched the scale, scratching the paint off the rusty, warped licence plate. “V-voila! L-lame attraction in a b-backwater tourist trap!”

“HEY!” Stan ripped it out of Rick’s hand, enraged. “What are you, a cop?”

“F-f-fuck no. I-I don’t even care about your stupid business. You gotta do wh-what you gotta do. Got any liquor?”

“Not for you,” said Stan testily, gingerly replacing the fake mermaid scale. “Let’s see now… aha!” He snatched up a little pinwheel that had black and white swirls on it. “Behold! The World’s Most Distracting Object!” He pulled the string on the wheeled device, making it spin and the swirls spiral.

Rick glanced at it, then back to Stan. “W-what’s it do?” He looked back at it… “Whoa…” It kinda made his eyes hurt and his head swim.

“Huh?” Stan didn’t look away from it.

Rick shook his head abruptly and swatted the pinwheel from Stan’s hand.

“Hey!” Stan picked up the World’s Most Distracting Object and clicked his tongue. “You bent it!”

“I-I saved your ass,” said Rick, planting his hands on his hips. “W-we could’a been here for hours!”

“Psh, yeah right.” He put it back on the shelf where he found it and picked up another “wonder of the world”. “Well, how’s about this?” It was a small statue, about maybe a foot tall of a grotesque little man. Its expression was distorted and its hands were clumped awkwardly, fingers fused together. “This is a genuine real-life replica of Crab Hand Dan!”

“W-w-we’ve been over this,” said Rick. “Y-you called him Claw-Hand Dan.”

Stan huffed. “Look, wise-guy. I know you think you’re real  _ clever  _ and all that, but my job is to entertain! I ain’t a scientist or nothin’.”

Rick snorted and flicked the nose of a taxidermied wolf with googley eyes, the black plastic jiggled in the sockets. “No, th-this is entertaining alright.”

“So that means I get to keep the twenty?” he asked, grinning like a kid on Christmas.

Rick rolled his eyes and folded his arms, leaning against the wall. “Sure, w-whatever.”

The man tipped his fez to him with an over-exaggerated wink. “Much obliged!” he said, sounding as if he wasn’t planning on giving the money back, anyway. “Would I perchance be able to persuade you to purchase a novelty item from our gift shop?”

“L-like what? Alcohol?”

Stan scratched his chin. “ _ Well…  _ I don’t have a permit to sell alcohol in this upstanding, family-friendly establishment, but if you were to, say, drop another ten on the floor I might be inclined to offer you a drink?” He put his fist over his mouth and made a phony coughing sound, his other hand open to receive the cash.

Rick snorted. He liked this guy’s style. He pulled out a few more crumpled bills and said, “Oh no, the wind caught them,” as he dropped the money into Stan’s sweaty palm.

“How generous!” he said, stuffing the money into his pocket. He opened the curtain back into the main part of the gift shop and Rick followed after him, eager for another drink.

Stan disappeared into the kitchen for just a minute and emerged with two cans of cold beer. “Here.” He tossed one to Rick.

Rick caught it with his left hand, popped the top, and took a sip. It was crappy beer, but it was beer nonetheless. He smacked his lips and leaned against the gift shop counter.

“You don’t look like a sucker,” said Stan, popping the top on his own can. “What brings you out here?”

“Stuff.” Rick didn’t owe this guy anything. He took another sip. “W-w-what leads a guy to build a tourist trap in the middle of nowhere?”

“Stuff.” Stan put on a winning smile. “But hey, take a look around the gift shop! Maybe there’s something a lone wolf like yourself could enjoy!”

Rick decided to humour him and take a look around, scuffing his feet on the wooden floors as he perused the shelves. Snow globes, key chains, novelty licence plates, t-shirts, and bumper stickers all lined the shelves. Most of them were adorned with question marks or had the words “ _ The Mystery Shack _ ” written on them somewhere.

Rick poked around in some old boxes in the back, saw something strange, and plunged his hand into one of the boxes.

Stan called up from the front desk, “Hey! What’re you lookin’ at, back there?”

Rick pulled his hand from the box. He was holding a grappling hook. “W-what’re you doing with this?”

“Uh.” Stan offered half a grin. “Would you believe that I was putting on a play?”

“A play,” said Rick flatly, examining the device.

“Yeah! It was a real shindig! Lots of high-flying acts!”  He smiled, gesturing his hands to the sky.

“Hm.” Rick replaced it and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Th-that’s a good model, but I preferred the later ones. B-better for getting over walls.”

Stan’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline when he heard that. Then he grinned, clueing in immediately. “Well,” he said, drawing the word out, “it served  _ me  _ just fine in the late seventies.”

“D-did it, now?” said Rick.

Stan paused again, then narrowed his eyes. “You  _ sure  _ you’re not a cop?”

“F-f-fuck, man, don’t insult me so bad! D-d-do I look like a pig?”

“Sorry, sorry,” said Stan, waving his hand nonchalantly. “I should’a realized you weren’t when I didn’t smell bacon.”

Rick snorted at that and walked back up towards the front. “Apology accepted, loser.”  He took a gulp of his beer.

Stan put on his salesman grin once again and walked over to a rack of keychains that had names on them. “Before you take your leave, might I offer you a keychain? Your name was Rick, right?”

“Y-y-yep.”

He fished one off the rack that had his name on it and dangled it before him. “You got another five?”

“I-I gave you money for beer, you scammer! Th-th-that beer wasn’t worth all of ten bucks!”

“But you just dropped it, and it happened to land in my hand!” he said, his grin not faltering for a second. “Far be it from me to attempt to control the wind!”

Rick snatched the keychain and examined it. One one side, it had “RICK” written in tiny white capitals, on the other it said “ _ What’s in the Mystery Shack? _ ”

“I’m keeping this,” he said, waving it in his face. “I-if you call the fuzz, I-I’ll point them towards that grappling hook!”

Stan rolled his eyes and huffed, but he was clearly smiling. “I was  _ gonna  _ say that the ten will suffice, but if you’re gonna be a little  _ bitch  _ about it…”

Rick jammed the keychain into his pocket and gave a two fingered salute as he headed out the door. “L-later, chump!”

“Later, sucker!” said Stan as the door closed behind him.

\--

Rick walked through the forest, the soil pleasantly springy underneath the soles of his shoes. That Mystery Shack nonsense was funny, but he had other stuff to do. He climbed over tree roots and kicked at pinecones as he peered through the undergrowth, looking for what he’d originally come for.

Bushes clawed at his sweater as he walked by and he brushed them off. He stubbed his toe on a root and swore colourfully, shaking his foot.

“F-f-fuckin’ nature,” he muttered under his breath as he continued his walk. “G-goddamn trees and fresh  _ air,  _ Jesus. W-w-who needs it?”

He soon found himself in a clearing. The tall grass swayed in the wind, and something glowed faintly pink across the way. Rick stepped out into the tall grass, and his foot sank deep into the mud. 

“ _ Fuck! _ ” He yanked his foot out, his sock completely soaked, his shoe encrusted in mud. “Fuck, I-I hate nature!” He gingerly stepped over the mud puddle and started to wade through the tall grass to get to the whatever was glowing across the clearing.

He pulled his soggy shoes from the grass and stopped at the edge of the meadow. Enormous iridescent crystals grew from the ground, casting rainbow prisms of light on the forest floor.

Rick knew better than to touch some weird crystals growing out of the dirt in the middle of the woods, so he tossed a tiny pebble at one of them, first. It bounced off with a clean, clear ringing sound.

“Huh.” He kneeled and examined them. There seemed to be a strange scattering of objects around the bases of the crystals. Tiny maple leaves the size of his thumbnail, tiny snails, and… was that a tiny deer?

On the other side of the crystals, there were other objects. Snails the size of his hands, massive oak leaves, and acorns the size of baseballs. As Rick watched, a moth fluttered through the beam of light cast by the glittering crystals, and it grew to an enormous size. Its massive wings whooshed as they flapped, and the tree branch it landed on bent underneath its weight.

Rick threw his hands up in the air. “I-it’s motherfuckin’ Christmas in this biiiiiiiitch!”

He stooped and plucked small, hand-sized crystals from the ground. He picked up a flashlight and shone it through the prism, making a tiny pebble grow to the size of a small boulder within a few seconds. The crystals were quickly dropped into his shoulder bag and he got to his feet, swaying only just a bit from the alcohol still left in his system.

He fumbled for his portal gun, pulled it out, and punched in the coordinates. He shot a green portal from the end of it, then stumbled through the swirling circle.

The forest was quiet after he left, save for the sound of chirping birds and dripping rain.


	2. Blood Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick returns for more crystals and he meets a squirrel. A big one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: blood and violence

The same swirl of green appeared on the side of the Town Hall as it did a month prior. Only this time, it was late afternoon. Rick checked for possible witnesses. The whole town seemed to be winding down at this point. Now that he knew he was not being watched, he held out and fussed at his portal gun. 

“What the fuck… I th-thought I had the coordinates…” He readjusted, shot another green vortex, and stepped right out of the Town Hall again. He grunted angrily, mumbling, “I’ll deal with it later,” before shoving the gun in his back pocket.

\--

It was a little cooler than the last time he was there, making the trek uphill not seem so very long. He was very thankful he brought more than one flask with him this time.

By the time Rick made it up to the top, Stan seemed to be wrapping up a tour outside. He was visible from the back row. Rick was squinting to the front to spot the attraction while Stan was presenting Rock That Looks Like A Face Rock. The crowd was arguing quietly.

Stan held back a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it  _ looks  _ like a face… It’s a rock… No, what’s so hard to understand, it’s a rock that  _ looks  _ like a face.” 

Stan just so happened to look up and there was a familiar looking lanky guy standing tall in the back. His hair was almost blue in the afternoon light. He had a long sleeved sweater shirt, which was a little weird considering it was August. 

Stan shook his head and redirected his attention towards the crowd at large. “So, uh--yeah, it’s definitely a rock.  _ Not  _ a face. Just a rock that  _ looks  _ like a face.” 

The man in the back chuckled and took a swig from a flask.  _ ‘Wasn’t his name Ricky or something? I swear he’s been here before.’ _

Stan ended his speech and led people inside to buy merchandise, and by the time he had the chance to look around, the tall guy was gone.

_ ‘Huh. Weird.’ _ Stan shrugged and closed the door behind him. He slapped on his Mister Mystery grin once again and brandished his eight-ball cane dramatically as he showed off the wonders of the amazing bicyclops.

“Behold!” he said with false grandiose in his tone, walking over to the statue and whipping the sheet off of it. “The amazing Bicyclops!” It was a statue he’d built with two eyes stacked vertically in the middle of its forehead.

People oohed and ahhed and snapped photos, and Stan grinned triumphantly. He was at the point where he could look at a guy and tell how much cash he would be willing to drop on his tacky merchandise. 

That Ricky guy from before was one of the rare times he guessed wrong. He didn’t think he’d be able to squeeze much more than a dollar out of him, but he’d gotten thirty! 

Ricky didn’t strike him as the kind of guy who had a lot of money to throw around. He had reeked of booze and sweat and his clothes had been clearly second-hand. He would feel bad for him being such a sucker, but hey, every dollar that Ricky didn’t have was a dollar that Stan now had. So there.

Stan remembered being in that guy’s position, once upon a time. Not much to your name other than a car and a pair of fists.

Well, that wasn’t his life now. He had other stuff to worry about, like mortgage, and the machine in the basement.

He strutted along to the next exhibit, the wonderful and amazing diorama explaining how the moon landing was faked. He put that Ricky guy out of his mind.

\--

It was late in the day, and Rick was gathering more crystals. Maybe if he got enough this time, he wouldn’t have to come back to this lame-ass hick town again. Rick filled his satchel with crystals of many sizes until the bag could barely button closed.

“Welp.” He started back towards town when he heard something rustling in the brush. Knowing this place, it was something dangerous.

There was a pistol in the front pocket of his bag. Rick flipped the top and slowly reached for it as he scanned the area.  He made no sudden movements. There was a low, guttural growl… 

A 6-inch cougar leaped from the bush. Rick chuckled nervously as it crawled up his pant leg, its tiny claws poking through his khakis. “A-Aaaaaw… That’s kinda cute…”

There was another growl, low and dangerous, and Rick’s face lost all color. It came from right behind him.

He whipped around, feet skidding, and saw a squirrel.

The squirrel was super sized, at least ten feet tall. It peered down at Rick with its enormous basket-ball sized eyes. Its claws were razor sharp, its teeth glinted menacingly in the twilight.

It growled, its tail twitched, and its head tilted.

“Oh _fuuuuuuck!_ ” Rick realized that he was in deep shit. He tried to step away slowly and carefully. His foot landed on a twig. It snapped under his weight.

The squirrel reared up on its hind legs and  _ holy shit it was as tall as a tree. _ Rick let out an unbecoming yelp and staggered away, feet sliding on wet leaves and grass. He reached for his portal gun but only grasped at empty air. He saw it on the forest floor behind the monster, dented and glinting faintly in the dying light next to the crystals that had fallen from his bag as well. Perfect.

“ _ Shit, shit, shit! _ ” He grabbed at his gun and fired two rounds, striking the enormous rodent in the shoulder and in the head. It let out the most un-squirrel-like roar he’d ever heard. Great. Now it was angry.

He slipped in the mud and landed on his ass, the squirrel towering over him. He wasn’t an expert in squirrel behavior, but it looked threatening. He didn’t wanna see what kind of damage those claws could do.

Rick quickly got an idea. He lunged to his feet and stumbled, one of the shards he collected in hand. There was one last ray of light in the clearing. He ran for it, and the squirrel pursued. He lunged towards the light, and the squirrel swiped at him with its claws, catching him in the thigh. His adrenaline blocked the pain as he reached his goal.

Rick held up the shard of crystal to the beam of sunlight, aiming it at the approaching creature. The prism threw a clear beam of light, catching the squirrel in the chest. It shrank with every second as it approached him. By the time it got to Rick, it was the size of his pinky.

Rick huffed a tired laugh. “Hah! N-Not today, squirrel!” He collapsed, hand on chest, breath rasping in his throat. Then he noticed his pants felt damp where he was scratched. He touched his fingers to the tear in his pants. Blood slipped through his fingers to the ground.

“Sh-shit.”

\--

Stan was settling down, taking his suit jacket off. He hung a left in the hallway to get to the small bathroom. He hung his eyepatch by the sink before washing his face. The mirror revealed how tired the day made him, dark circles hung under his hazel eyes and there was stubble framing his face.

He frowned, brushing the gray hair from his temples back, then searched for more throughout his short brown hair. ‘ _ You’re getting old, Stan. _ ’

Sounds were coming from outside, groans of pain and thumping. Stan grabbed his bat saved especially for intruders.

Stan cautiously made his way to the source. “H-Hey...I need s-some help out here!” a voice said from outside. Stan loosened his grip on the bat, jogging to the door. “Stan? Are you-you there? I’m bleeding…” He dropped the bat and sprinted for the door.

“ _ Ricky? _ ” 

The door opened to Rick. He had obviously dragged himself through the mud and woods. He was laying on his side, bleeding all over Stan’s front porch, breathless and fatigued. “Actually, it’s R-Rick. C-can I get a little help?”

“ _ Holy shit! _ ” Stan stooped and grabbed Rick by his upper arm, hauling him to his feet. “What the hell happened, man?”

“I-I was attacked by a squirrel,” he said flatly. “H-holy shit, you’re strong.”

“Not the point! God, we gotta call the hospital-”

“N-no way! D-d-do I look like the sorta guy who can pay for that shit? I-I’ll be fine, j-just gotta…” His head lolled slightly. “Woo. Dizzy.”

“From  _ blood loss,  _ you lunatic!” Stan helped him inside, carrying him on his shoulder, through the gift shop, and into the kitchen. He slung one arm across the table’s surface to clear it of all the takeout boxes and novelty pieces. Rick’s blood immediately started pooling on the wood surface. Stan ran into the bathroom to get bandages and washcloths.

Rick pressed a hand over his bloody wound and took a glance around the room he was in. It was cramped. The area around the table was packed full of tacky things, some of which were similar to the gift shop merchandise. The part of the kitchen that was meant for cooking was fairly clean, however it looked like the counters could be wiped down.

Stan dashed back into the room and his hands were grabbing at Rick’s belt in an instant.

Rick absently swatted his hands away. “H-hey, buy me a drink first, huh?”

Stan’s ears were red enough to match his fez. “I gotta see the  _ wound  _ you idiot. Pants off.”

“F-f-fine,” said Rick. Honestly, he’d been in worse situations and this wasn’t the time to complain. He tried to lifted his hips so Stan could tug his khakis off.

Stan struggled to get Rick’s pants off with his shaky hands, but when he did, he made a face at the stench of blood. He lifted the bloody garment and put it aside, praying it wouldn’t stain the cheap fake tile. He took a look at the wound and winced. The gashes were half an inch deep, at least, and stretched across a good bit of his thin thigh. Iit looked pretty bad, to say the least, but he would live. He pressed the wet washcloth over it.

Rick hissed in pain at the warm water and tried to squirm away..

“Quit being a baby,” growled Stan, holding his leg still to apply pressure to the wound.

“J-jeez, you’re real rough,” said Rick, but he let him push against his gash, one leg over Stan’s shoulder, the other awkwardly curled against him.

“These wounds are no joke,” said Stan through his teeth, peeling the cloth back to check the bleeding. It was now oozing sluggishly. “Slash an artery and you’re gone. Christ, what gotcha so bad?”

“I-I already told you, it was a squirrel.”

“Fine, don’t tell me, whatever.” Stan grabbed another wet washcloth and began to clean the gash. “Christ. This needs stitches.”

Rick knew that he had something that he could fix that with back where he was staying. “L-Look, I-I-I got a friend around here that’s a doctor. He’ll fix me up for free, I just can’t bleed to death f-first.” Rick held Stan’s hand to his leg to add additional pressure.

Stan felt a little dubious. “Fine, if you say so. Do you, like, need a ride?”

Rick was starting to sound a little quieter, almost faint. “N-n-no, I just want to-just want to hurry up and stop bleeding. I can ha-handle it, I can… Just make me stop bleeding.” He laid his head back on the table with a quiet thud.

Stan applied several long strips of gauze around Rick’s leg and covered that with ace bandage to keep it tight. He gestured awkwardly to the patch job. “There, good as new.”

Rick lifted his head and flexed his leg, admiring his handiwork. “A-Alright… Can you help m-me up?”

Stan grasped onto his arm and pulled him into a sitting position. Rick had to struggle to keep from vomiting due to the room spinning so fast.

“Think you could walk? Or hop?” Stan looked concerned.

Rick looked him in the eyes and really focused. Stan’s dark eyelashes framed his pretty hazel eyes. It was almost as if he had flecks of real gold around the irises. Rick didn’t think his were anywhere close to as interesting as this, his were so dark brown they looked black.

“I-I need a drink…” Rick said as he put his arm around Stan’s neck.  

Stan wrapped his big arm around Rick’s slim waist. He was large, solid, and very warm. It was strangely comforting to Rick in his current state.

Rick sucked air through his teeth and winced when Stan’s hand pressed on his side.  “I-I got a bruise,” he said as he shifted Stan’s hand to his hip instead.

Stan slowly began slipping Rick off the edge of the table.  “Easy…”

Rick felt protected and supported against Stan’s firm body and felt comfortable to try and walk.  Moving his injured leg was painful, but no muscles seemed to be torn.  At least not much, Rick had a feeling he would know in the morning.

“Alright, let’s get you some pants,” Stan said as he held Rick close, trying to keep his hip up on the side of his hurt leg.  Rick’s free arm dragged against any wall or table that was passing by to keep his balance.

They walked together, to one of the back rooms.   _ ‘This must be his bedroom,’ _ Rick thought.  The bed was well-worn with wrinkled sheets.  The walls had some posters, but were otherwise bare.  Stan sat Rick on the bed, looking for something small enough for him to wear.

Rick glanced over Stan a bit more.  Stan was stooped over his dresser, searching through the drawers for pairs of pants and humming under his breath.

Rick  _ shamelessly _ let his eyes roam over Stan’s figure. He was a good-looking guy. Broad shoulders, big biceps, narrow hips. A little chubby, but Rick could feel his strength when he lifted him. His hands were large, warm, and calloused, surprisingly dextrous for somebody with thick fingers.

Rick let his eyes linger on his butt. Yeah, that part was nice, too.  It looked round and firm, but he wondered how it would feel in his hands.

“Here.” Stan turned back to him and Rick let out a slightly disappointed sigh. Stan held a pair of old sweatpants in his hands. “Not fancy or nothin’, but it’ll do.”

“Th-thanks,” said Rick gruffly, taking the grey, grease-stained sweatpants and putting one leg in. He gingerly put his other leg in, wincing in pain as his injury gave a painful twinge.

“Need a hand?” asked Stan, tentatively stepping closer.

Rick gave half a shrug. “W-w-whatever.”

Stan took that as a yes. He got on one knee, grabbed Rick’s ankle, and watched him slowly pull the sweatpants up.  This is the first time that Stan had actually looked at Rick.  He was so focussed on the wound that he didn't have time to notice the large swirling constellation tattoos on his thighs.  They were extremely intricate, done with skill and precision in jet black ink that was as dark as the day they’d been done.  He also had many scars of unknown origins scattered across his skin.  Obviously this ‘squirrel’ incident was not his first scrape or bruise.

Stan helped Rick up to his feet once the pants were up to his hips.  “Here,” Stan kneeled down and pulled the hem of the pants up just a bit more and tugged on the drawstrings to cinch the waistline.

Now that death had been temporarily staved off and his pain was ebbing, Rick could finally appreciate the fact that a very good-looking man had seen him half naked and was kneeling on the floor before him, his hands still on his thighs.

Rick couldn’t help putting on a cocky smirk and tracing a finger over the back of Stan’s hand. “Th-thanks for helping me out.”

“You were bleeding to death,” said Stan flatly, oblivious to Rick’s gesture. “All over my porch, I might add.  I mean, I’ve been thinking about staining it, but that’s not what I had in mind.”

“I-it spruces up the place, I think,” said Rick, casually letting his hand rest on Stan’s.

Stan glanced down at Rick’s hand. “Um.”

Rick didn’t move his hand. He gestured vaguely with his other one, not making eye contact. “Eh, life is full’a surprises. Y-you gotta be prepared for crazy shit to happen.”

“Like a half-dead guy appearing on my front porch?”

Rick snapped his fingers. “B-b-bingo.”

There was a pause.  They just sat there, for one quiet moment, unsure what to say. Rick didn’t want to move for fear of making Stan move. Stan didn’t move because he wasn’t sure what he’d do afterwards, and the longer this moment lasted, the more awkward the aftermath was going to be.

Rick broke the silence with a bit of a sigh.  Stan obviously wasn’t picking up what he was putting down and any action would just open his wounds back up.  “I need to go.”  He released Stan’s hand and Stan stood up.  “R-really, thanks for-for patching me up…”  He slapped Stan’s bicep as a sort of friendly gesture, but as soon as he gave his firm, muscled arm a smack, his mind was back in the gutter.

Stan relaxed a bit.   _ ‘Ha, he ain’t queer, just appreciative.’ _  He gave a small smile, shaking off the awkwardness.  “Any time, Rick.  Need any help getting to that doctor?”

“No, b-b-but I’d like s-some sort of crutch.”  They glanced around the room for something to use.

Stan picked up an old cane from the corner of the room and handed it to Rick.  “How’s that?”

“I’ll manage.  Thanks,” Rick said as he began to follow Stan out of the room.

Stan started cleaning up the kitchen as Rick was making his way for the front door, limping and putting his weight on the cane.

“Oh, Rick?”

Rick turned around to face Stan, who was wiping down the bloody table.

“Come back sometime,” he said, glancing up.  “I’d like to know if you’d made it or not.”

Rick gave a smirk.  “Maybe.  We’ll-we’ll see, Stan.”

The door shut.  Silence fell on the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was very gay. Stan is very dense. We had fun writing it.  
> *dons shades and backflips out the door*


	3. Beer on the Back Porch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick pays Stan another visit, Stan "no homo"s his way through life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: alcohol and internalized homophobia.
> 
> Reminder that bloodsweettooth on tumblr is also working on this, but hasn't gotten their AO3 set up yet

Half a month and Stan hadn’t seen Rick once.  He’d worried about Rick some, partly because he didn’t want to be liable for his death if he’d died, and partly because… Well he wasn’t sure.  There was still blood on his porch, which may have reminded him a few times. Not many people can walk away from a wound like that, and he kind of hoped that Rick was one of those people.

Oh, who knows.  Rick was just some guy he met, who cares? Work keeps everything off his mind.  It had been a long day, and it looked about closing time already.  Stan had planned on closing a little earlier, tonight. The equipment in the basement needed cleaning and tending to.

He was sweeping up the dust from the corners of the gift shop when he heard it. A knock at the door, a crisp rap of knuckles on old wood. He grumbled to himself as he walked over to the door to the gift shop, already talking as he opened the door.

“Look, man, we’re clo-” He stopped and gaped when he saw the guy standing before him. “Rick?”

“H-hey.” He looked okay, not great. His midnight blue hair was greasy and he had bags under his eyes, but he wasn’t limping or covered in blood, so that’s a step in the right direction. “I-I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by.”

“I’m two miles away from the town, man. There is no neighborhood, here. What’s up?”

“I-I’m not dead, assface, that’s what’s up.” Rick pushed himself past Stan, his hands jammed in his pockets.

“Oh,” said Stan. “That’s… good? Yeah, you’re not dead, that’s good.” He followed after Rick as he strode quickly into the kitchen.  Rick grabbed Stan a can of beer out of the 6-pack in the fridge.  He held one out to Stan, cracking it open with his forefinger.  As Stan took it, a little impressed, as Rick grabbed another can for himself and did the same.  There was foam clinging to Rick’s facial hair around his lip.  He looked like he hadn’t shaved in about a week.

“So, uh,” Stan spoke up, a little nervously, “Do you just invite yourself into everybody’s home?”

Rick smirked, feeling pleased that Stan couldn’t tear his eyes away from him.  “I knocked, didn’t I?”

Stan shrugged.  He drank his beer.

\--

 

The two men sat on the porch’s couch. Most porches don’t have a couch, but this one did. It was old and damp and sagged under their weight, but it was comfortable so it did the job.

Rick crossed his legs while he drank his beer.  His ashen skin was lit by light of the full moon.

Stan examined Rick as a whole, only half trying to hide his staring.  He was dressed a bit differently than he had been in the past.  He looked more comfortable in his loose, quarter-length sleeve cotton t-shirt and jeans, and a pair of dirty sneakers.  It made him look even less put together than his previous outfit, but he looked far more comfortable and homely, maybe even a bit younger.

Stan loosened his tie, pulled it from his collar, and undid several buttons.  Under the button up was an old white undershirt and a gold chain. His dark chest hair was visible underneath.

Rick didn’t look up at any point.  He just sat there with a straight, calm face and watched the tall pine trees sway in the wind. It was a peaceful evening, and judging by the lines on his face, Rick didn’t get many of those.

It was a calm, pleasant night and there were barely any bugs. A few fireflies flickered lazily from their perches in the pine trees. The air was cool and clear, and a warm nighttime breeze rustled the bushes in the yard.

Stan didn’t mind the silence. In fact, he kind of liked it. It was a nice break from the constant braying of obnoxious tourists, but he felt like he had a right to know  _ something  _ about the guy who’d bled all over his porch. 

“So, where are you from?” he asked, deliberately looking away from him and desperately hoping he sounded nonchalant.

Rick stayed silent for a while.  “Doesn’t matter.  I-It’s really where a guy’s  _ been  _ th-that makes a man who he is.”  He absently tapped the top rim of his can.

Honestly, Stan couldn’t agree more. “Well then, where have you been?”  He looked out across his yard and to the tree line, sinking into the couch a bit more. Why did he feel like he was asking off-limits questions?

“Too many to count.  Too many to remember.”  Rick sipped his beer.

“Oh. I know that feeling.” Stan remembered his twenties, spent in motels, on couches, and in his car, wandering from place to place and conning every schmuck that came his way. Good times… sorta. He’d had the same look about him that Rick had, now… a guy stretched too thin.

Rick glanced over at him, then redirected his gaze to the trees.

After a brief comfortable pause, Stan spoke up again.  “What brings you to Gravity Falls then? My wonderful Shack of Mysteries?”  He chuckled at his comment and looked at Rick for a reply.

Rick raised an eyebrow. He looked back at the house, gave it a once-over, and shook his head slowly.

The seriousness broke.  They both laughed.

“I-I guess I’m just looking,”  Rick stated, looking Stan in the face as he spoke.

“Looking for what?”

Rick looked at Stan.  “Adventure, I guess?” He cleared his throat, sounding more firm when he spoke again. “Y-yeah. Adventure.”

Thinking of adventure set Stan’s heart ablaze with bittersweet memories of sand between his toes, sunburned chests, and rope burns from dragging boats across the beach. He couldn’t help smiling.  “I can appreciate a man that loves a good adventure.”

Stan’s grin was infectious. He grinned like a kid at a carnival who’d just won the biggest prize at the ring toss.  Rick gave a small smile back.

Rick didn’t really know what to say after that, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off of Stan.  In fact, why wasn’t he kissing Stan right then?  God, he really wanted to… The guy was handsome, good-natured, and funny. Mostly it was the  _ handsome  _ aspect that interested Rick at the moment. He was a sucker for big muscles and soft bellies.

He decided to lay on the ol’ Sanchez charm. He’d seduced a hive-mind, there was nothing he couldn’t bang if he set his mind to it.

Rick scooted closer to Stan.  “W-W-What’s your dream adventure?”  And closer.  “I-If you could go anywhere, anywhere at all?”  He was sitting right beside Stan now, and Stan could smell more than just beer on his breath.

Stan had a strange feeling that something was happening that he didn’t quite understand. His ears were red and his palms felt sweaty, Rick was leaning closer and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It had been what, seven years since he had a real and personal conversation with someone? Almost ten since he’d had a good hug? Fuck, he was lonely.

“Well,” said Stan, thinking of all of the various adventures and misadventures he’s had or dreamed of having over the years. “I guess… I’ve always wanted to sail around the world.”

Rick put a hand on his thigh.  “W-what would you do?  Just like to be on the ocean?”  Rick’s face was just a foot away from Stan’s.  His hand was warm on Stan’s thigh.

Stan was a naturally sweaty person, but he was sweating more than average at this exact moment. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure what Rick’s hand was doing on his leg, but he didn’t really mind. It was kind of nice. He stayed very still, hoping he wouldn’t move it. He was sure that he was bright red.

“Yeah,” he said, huffing a nervous laugh. “Well, for me it’s more about hunting for treasure and babes, y’know?”

“Babes, you say…”  Rick moved his hand just a bit more up Stan’s leg, inching his fingers closer to his torso.

Stan was starting to look visibly nervous.  “Uh--Yeah!  Babes!  You know… ladies?”

“Mmm… I-I’ll go get us another beer.  And th-then you can tell me all about the ladies you want to fuck.”  Rick’s hand slipped to Stan’s crotch and gave it a gentle squeeze and kissed him on the neck before getting up and sauntering back inside with a devilish smirk.

Stan let out a choked gasp as Rick left, face completely red. Did… that just happen? There’s no way he just imagined Rick’s hand on his dick and his mouth on his neck, was there? Holy christ. What the… why? Stan was completely baffled, and beginning to wonder if Rick was flirting with him, after all.

Stan wasn’t gay. He was very sure of that fact. He liked ladies, with their soft curves and smaller frames that fit nicely against him, his arm draping over his shoulders.  And, as a plus, boobs were basically his favorite part.  Men don't have boobs.  He was a hundred percent certain of that.

Rick was pretty drunk. He smelled like he’d been drinking even before they’d opened the six pack. Alcohol did weird things to people, made ‘em say and do shit they wouldn’t do, otherwise. Stan knew this firsthand, after having woken up in a dumpster one hot summer morning, covered in confetti and maple syrup and holding a fire extinguisher. That had been an interesting weekend, and he never figured out where he got the extinguisher.

Yeah. Rick was drunk. That’s why he fondled him and kissed him. That was definitely the reason.

Rick returned with another pack, already drinking one when he got back.  He plopped the pack in Stan’s lap.

When Rick sat back on the couch, he sat a foot or two away from Stan.  “S-So hotshot, where-where did  _ you _ come from?”

Stan immediately jumped on the change of conversation. He pulled a beer from the six pack and popped the top. “How do you know I’m not from here?”

“Y-you got an accent,” said Rick in bad imitation of Stan. “W-what’s th’ matter? Mooks gettin’ you down? Ey, I’m walkin’ here!”

“Har har,” said Stan, but he couldn’t help chuckling a little. “Yeah, I’m from the east coast and parts unknown.”

“A-am I gonna get any specifics?”

“That’s all my lawyers will let me say.” He took a sip, smirking at the befuddled look on Rick’s face. “What? Now that  _ I’m  _ being obtuse, it’s suddenly offensive?”

Rick rolled his eyes and adjusted himself, crossing his legs again. “F-fine, man of many secrets, yadda yadda.”

“Hey, we all got our skeletons,” said Stan with a chuckle. “Mine just happen to be of the less than legal type.”

“S-same here,” said Rick with a nod. “E-except some of my skeletons wound up with tails or extra eyes or something.”

Before Stan could process how weird that comment was, Rick got to his feet.  “I gotta-gotta go anyhow.  I have some work I have to catch up on, and it ain’t getting done around here.”  He chugged the beer in his hand and crushed the can, dropping it onto the porch.

Stan gave half a shrug. “Yeah, I got stuff to do, too.  I have work in the morning, and I gotta sleep this beer off.”

Rick chuckled as he walked down the stairs.  “F-Fuckin’ lightweight.”  He began walking down the trail.  He shouted, “Nice see-seein’ ya!”

“Bye,” said Stan, not loud enough for the retreating figure to hear. He remained on the porch for a few more minutes, still a bit confused about what he just witnessed.

He finished his can of beer after a few minutes and went back inside, locking the door behind him. He could still feel the ghost of Rick’s lips on his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had a lot of free time on our hands, and it's the anniversary of Gravity Falls so ayyy another chapter what???  
> What? It's not the anniversary anymore? pshh whatever time isn't real anyway


	4. On His Mind / The Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan thinks of Rick at the wrong time. Rick makes another nightly visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: cursing, drinking, NSFW
> 
> (bst: yall are all thirsty. take this. quENCH)

Stan woke up, as he did every morning, and hated it.  Today was Sunday, it was suppose to be his day off, and all he wanted to do was sleep in,  _ for once _ .  His internal clock just did not let him.

He squinted, looking for his glasses.  He hated wearing the damned things, but his eyesight has only gotten worse since he was in high school.  He was forced to start wearing them by the doctor who pulled the glass shards out of his arm from the windshield of his wrecked car.  On the plus side, he could see a lot better now.   _ ‘Who’da thunk, right?’ _

Stan swung his feet over the side of his bed, hating himself for leaving the warmth of his comfortable bed.  He shuffled to the bathroom down the hall, eyes squinted.

He sluggishly undressed as he yawned.  He tugged his undershirt off by the back collar and yawned, dropping it to the floor.  He leaned over and turned the water on, putting way more turns on the hot knob than the cold one.  The shower head came to life, spraying high pressure, scalding water onto the shower floor.

He took his boxers off and stepped out of them and into the shower, waking up very quickly with how hot the water was.  It always woke him up, which is why he always showered in the morning.

Apparently, that’s not the only thing waking up though.  He’d had just a little bit of morning wood, but the shower was heating his body up.  The water hit his back at a nice pressure, the hot water slipped down his shoulders with ease.  He took himself in his hand and slowly rubbed the head of his growing erection.  

‘ _ I haven’t done this in a while, _ ’ he thought absently. __ ‘ _ And certainly no one else ha-- _ ’

He suddenly thought of Rick, grabbing his crotch and kissing his neck.  His hand was warm, and the way that he touched Stan was rough and gentle at the same time… 

“Oh my God… What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not gay.”  The water made his face turn pink (he reasoned) and he tried to think of girls as he began stroking himself.  Curvy ones… Cute bottoms… Tanning on the beach with nothing but tanning oil… 

He smiled as his dirty thoughts made him throb.  He started going faster, letting the water slip into his hand.  He remembered how it felt, sliding his cock into a girl, how tight and soft it was.  How wonderful it was to feel a girl in just her panties, grinding on his naked cock with her slippery, wet pussy.

He put his hand on the wall and pumped himself faster biting his lip, trying to recall a particular fantasy. What would this girl look like? Dark hair, he’s always liked that.  Thin, but not twiggy.  Some meat on his bones… No, no, no, he meant her.

‘ _ Just get to the point, Stan, _ ’ he thought to himself.

She would have entrancing dark eyes and he’d ravish her body, hands searching over her skin and touching every inch of her.  He’d finger her until she dripped down the back of his hand and she would moan the entire time.  

‘ _ Yeah, that’s right… _ ’ He’d make her call him sweet, sexy names and grip his muscular shoulders.  He’d bury his face in the crook of her neck and grip to her thin hips as he lined himself up to enter her, gripping to her midnight blue hair and smelling her skin.  His lips would feel the vibrations of her throaty gasp and groan as he entered him, pulling his legs up to wrap around his hips.

Stan licked his upper lip.  He gripped his dick just a little tighter as he stroked, wishing he could be inside of someone again.

He visualized about his ashen skin, and how thin his neck was.  He kissed his throat.

“Rick…” he groaned.  He then stopped in his tracks completely.  “Oh God no.”  He stood up straight, gripping his hands into fists, hoping that flexing a muscle helped make his boner go away.

But trying to make his thoughts sway from Rick was just making it worse.  He couldn’t stop thinking of how Rick looked at him.  Rick always bore bedroom eyes and smirked when he got a rise out of Stan.  Well, he was  _ really _ getting a rise out of him now.

Stan’s dick was throbbing, lonely, beginning to hurt, and Stan  _ really _ didn’t want to deal with it later.  But he was already going soft, and his loneliness was beginning to invade his thoughts.  It had almost been a year since he’d fucked anyone and it made him sad.

Stan sighed, resuming what was suppose to be a normal shower.

\--

Stan’s favorite show was on.  He was laying back in his recliner, beer in hand, wearing nothing but underwear.  It was almost 11 o’clock, the clock relayed.  Stan wasn’t really all that tired, it’s just that his chair was comfy.

He heard footsteps.  Stan shot up in his chair, grabbing the pistol beside the arm rest.

“Hey, S-Stan!  I-I brought beer!” Rick’s voice was carried from down the hallway as he was approaching.  Stan jolted up, rushing to the source.

Stan gripped the front of Rick’s shirt and held him to his face, pissed.  “ _ Do you just invite yourself into other people’s houses? _ ”

“Ha, nope.  Just yours.  Plus, it looks like you were expecting me, you-you’re already undressed.   _ Eres l-lindo... _ ”  Rick smirked confidently.

Stan blushed.  “How did you get in, anyway?”

“I-i-it was unlocked!”  Rick gave him a wide grin, untangling Stan’s fingers from his shirt.

Stan narrowed his eyes, taking Rick’s six-pack.  “No, it wasn’t.  It was dead bolted.”

Rick shrugged, walking past Stan.  “It wasn’t after I picked it.”

Stan fumed.  Rick invaded his thoughts, he invaded his fantasies, he invaded his home, was nothing sacred?

Rick set his bag down on the table.  He flipped the top open and searched inside of it, pulling out two decks of cards and a pack of assorted poker chips.  He sat down, opening one deck and shuffling it.  They mixed together three times over in just a second.

Stan sat down across the table, seeming just a bit more interested now that there were cards and chips on the table.  “What are you doing?”

Rick scoffed, dealing cards.  “W-what do you  _ think? _  W-we’re playing poker.”  He knocked the remainder of the deck on the table to keep all the cards aligned and sat it flat on the table beside him.  Rick ripped the pack of coins open and divided them in two, pushing one half to Stan.  “Ante-ante up, chump.”  Rick said teasingly.

Stan looked at the coins, then he looked at Rick. He sighed and grabbed the pack of cards. “You’re on.”

\--

It was past one.  Rick drank almost all of the beer by himself, and after that ran out, he drank from his own flask.

Stan had almost all the chips, and this next hand could really settle it.  He smiled widely while he looked at his hand, looking up at Rick when he realized he could win it.  He did have three queens after all.  It was very unlikely that Rick could win this hand.

“All in,” Stan said as he slid his bounty of chips towards the center.  Rick did the same.  “You should probably just give me your chips right no--”

Rick laid a royal flush down on the table.

Stan gaped, shocked.  “Wha--”

Rick cackled wildly, raking in the chips.  “Hahaaaaa!  Serves you-serves you right for cheating,  _ biiiiiiitch! _ ”

“I-I wasn’t cheating!” Stan lied.  He was cheating the whole time.

“Ha, don’t be so fucking butthurt over it, Stan.  I-I beat you fair and square and I-I’m  _ drunk! _ ”  Rick looked as if he was sure of himself the whole time.

Stan was quickly rushing to his defense.  “Well I--”

Stan looked up when he heard something sounded like a phone ringing. Rick checked his wristwatch, which was blinking.  “H-Hold that thought, Stan.  I-I-I gotta take this.”

Stan hadn’t noticed that Rick had a cellular phone on him, they’re huge and clunky, and really kind of hard to miss. He didn’t have one in his bag, Stan thought, and he certainly didn’t have on in his pocket.

_ ‘...Maybe there’s a phone in there?’ _ he thought as he eyed Rick’s messenger bag.

\--

Stan snuck around to the porch, leaning on the wall next to the screen door.  Rick was pacing the porch, speaking into something that Stan could not see.

“Yeah, yeah, well… Listen!  I-I-I didn’t leave those there!  I-it was--W-w-wait, don’t blame that on me, Squanchy!  Th-the fuck are you trying to say?”  He stood still for a moment, tapping his foot impatiently.  “Listen, Squanch…”  Rick fell silent for a moment.  Stan could faintly hear an angry voice shouting quietly from a small and tinny speaker that was out of sight.

Rick turned slightly. Stan ducked quickly out of sight, humming to himself and hoping that he came across as nonchalant.

Rick rolled his eyes and turned away again, facing out towards the forest. “W-w-well, if i-it bothers you that much--”

Stan winced a little in sympathy as Rick sharply sucked air in through his teeth.

Rick was speaking loudly, enraged. “W-well fuck your lady!  Y-you’ve only known her for a few months--What?  A-are you really kicking me out?  Are you  _ really _ doing this to me?  Y-you know I ain’t got no money!  I-I-I didn’t do  _ shit _ to deserve this--”

Silence fell for a few moments. Rick’s foot stopped tapping.

“Well…” He sighed, seeing that any fight was useless.  “I-is there anything I can do?”

Another bout of silence. Stan could hear the voice again, but he couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Rick seemed like he was talking into a cellular phone, but Stan couldn’t see one. It was very… strange.

Rick sighed again.  “S-see you on the flip side then.”  A beep sounded.  Rick huffed and lit his cigarette with a cheap lighter.

The floorboards creaked towards the screen door and Stan quickly looked for some excuse to be by the entrance.  He quickly tipped a pitcher into the mouth of a vase as if he was watering the long dead flowers with air.  Smooth.

When Rick entered, he huffed cigarette smoke into the house.  Stan plastered on the biggest smile he could.  “H-hey, Rick.  Who were you talking to?”

Rick’s demeanor was nothing short of normal.  He didn’t look at Stan, his hands jammed deep into his pockets.  “N-no one important.  Just gotta go and get my stuff now.  I-I-I’m not bitter.  Can-can I take some beer?  For the road?”  

Rick walked to the kitchen before Stan could reply. Stan trailed behind him, his palms feeling sweaty.

Rick was awkwardly quiet as he gathered his things off the kitchen table and placed them into his messenger bag. His brow was furrowed and his jaw was set, like he was thinking hard about unpleasant things. His movements were stiff and mechanical as he snapped his bag shut.

“Well, uh, I heard some yelling.  Did something happen?”  Stan asked cautiously.

Rick looked up at Stan, letting smoke lazily drift from his mouth and nose after a few drags.  He took the cigarette from his lips and offered it to Stan as he spoke.  “G-got kicked out, but y-you should have known that from the way you were eavesdropping.”

Stan took the cigarette and faked an affronted huff.  “I did nothing of the sort.”  He took a deep drag and puffed a ring of smoke in Rick’s face.

Though this earned a smile of approval from Rick, this didn’t change his tone.  “Eh, i-it happens.  Y-you can only bum off someone for so long.  I-I’m just waiting for you to get tired of me st-stealing your beer.”

They both chuckled.  Stan took a long drag as he looked at Rick, with his greasy hair and his stubble.  His dark circles under his dark eyes.  His bitten, chapped lips.  The bit of acne on his chin.  The scar on his forehead.  The freckle above his lip.  He looked like a mess, and Stan saw himself in Rick.

Stan exhaled smoke.  “Got any plans?”

“No, b-but I know a few people th-that may let me in for a night or two to figure it out.”  Rick took another cigarette from his pocket, lighting it.  He exhaled smoke.

Stan stood with Rick for a moment.  The air in the kitchen was lazy with cigarette smoke.

Rick looped the bag around his shoulder and made his way to the door.  “B-bye, Stan.”

Stan spoke up.  “Hey, Rick?”

Rick turned to look at Stan.  “Yeah?”

“Do you want to stay here for the night?”  Stan finished off his cigarette and shoved the butt into a dirty plate on the table. “Y’know, since it’s practically morning already.”

“I-it sure beats traveling.”  Rick said, as a strangely sweet smile crept onto his face at the invitation.

Stan was taken a little aback, he’d never seen Rick smile like that.   _ ‘Should I be scared?’ _  “Well you can take my recliner, I only have one bed.”

Rick sauntered over to Stan, the grin turning devilish.  “I-I wouldn’t mind sharing…Not if it’s with you, handsome.”  He trailed a finger on Stan’s chest. 

Stan chuckled nervously, his shoulders tense from the simple touch on his chest.  “Yeah, I bet you wouldn’t.  But I would.  Are you hitting on me?”

“O-only if you want me to.”

Stan smiled and brushed Rick off.  “Then I guess you’re not.  Don’t get too cocky, you’re just staying the night.”

Rick laughed and the tense moment was gone. He threw his bag over his shoulder and smiled more brightly than Stan had ever seen him. “W-whatever you say,  _ guapo _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey fellas, this is bloodsweettooth. ive been writing with runny and i finally have my own ao3 account, so hey here i am. as you may know, runny is going on a month long trip. i will be writing while she is gone. whether or not i post it is if i feel comf going at it alone lmao. this is my first fic so runny and i were doing it together. we write about half and half, but this chapter was written mainly by me due to the fact of runny getting ready for the big trip!!
> 
> thanks for all the support guys! we read all the comments and it makes us feel super supported and super happy! thanks sooooo much!!!!!!
> 
> HEY NOW THIS IS RUNAWAY OVER HERE HELLO
> 
> as I may have mentioned a million billion times, bst takes most of the credit for this chapter, I just checked some well-placed stutters and moral support their way! I'm going to miss working on this fic but THERE ARE ADVENTURES TO BE HAD so I'll see y'all soon!


	5. Too Much Work, Not Enough Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Rick both try to have an average day (for them, at least) and get caught up at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bst: YO SHIT MOTHERFUCKER GUESS WHATS ACTIVE AGAIN WOOP WOOP
> 
> runny: AS MENTIONED IN CAR THIEF, I'M BACK, BABY!

Stan woke up to his clock radio blaring Asia.  He rubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his hands and let out a long, weary groan.  He got up, barely keeping his eyes open, and shuffled to the bathroom.  He brushed his teeth, took a quick shower, and got dressed.  He dragged himself to the kitchen, starting his morning pot of coffee.  After that, he headed for the living room, as he did every morning, to watch the news.

Stan jumped as he saw Rick, who was sitting upright on the floor with machine parts and a half-built robot in his lap.

“Oh, right…”  Stan  _ may have forgotten _ that he let Rick spend the night.

Rick sat on the floor with his legs sprawled out.  His eyes looked tired, with purple bags smeared under them, but they were still focused.  “Do you eat breakfast?”  His voice sounded flat, and far less energetic than it usually was. His shoulders were slumped with fatigue.

“Sure, what do you want?”  Stan headed back for the kitchen and cracked the fridge open.

“I-I don’t give a shit, just toss-toss something at me and I’ll eat it.”  Rick cursed under his breath and shook his hand out when a screw pinched his finger.

Stan sighed and cracked two eggs into the frying pan in the kitchen. When did he start taking on charity cases? Then again, what was he gonna do, kick the guy out? Nah, he was too damn soft for that, loathe was he to admit it.

A short while later, Stan brought Rick a slightly scorched piece of toast with a runny egg on top.

Rick was snoring. His head was tilted back against the arm of the chair.  His mouth was open, and he was still holding the small machine in his lap as if he was still working on it.

Stan chuckled.  “Hey, Rick,” he nudged his leg with his foot.

Rick woke up with a little bit of a start, snorting himself awake.  “Huh?”  He quickly glanced around at his surroundings, like he was struggling to remember where he was, then squinted up at Stan.  “Oh.  Thanks.”  He held his hand out for the food.

\--

Stan came back into the house from the gift shop.  The Mystery Shack normally closed at about 7 at night, but Stan had skipped lunch because of the burst of tourists from a visiting bus.  His stomach was growling, but it was worth it for the extra money he made.  He needed to go to the next town’s hardware store for some more copper wires and some washers and circuit boards and...well, some things he wasn’t quite so sure about.  But he would figure it out if it took him years.

Rick was, finally, asleep in the recliner.  Stan decided not to bother him, since he was still awake by the time Stan went off to work.

\--

Rick was still out like a light by the time Stan was done with dinner.  It was Chinese takeout, since the kitchen almost burnt down again.   _ ‘Stan, why you gotta impress guests?’ _ he would think to himself as he shook his head at the three burnt chicken breasts stuck to the pan in the garbage.

He began eating at the table, as he did every night, alone.  But this time, he was a little unnerved.  He wasn’t alone tonight.  He’d let the stranger-turned-friend fall asleep on his recliner.  He looked at Rick, from his position at the table.

Rick seemed like he’d made himself comfortable.  He’d taken off his jacket and boots and was stretched out in the full recline of the chair.  The recliner’s foot was extended outwards as far as it could go, but its reach seemed stumpy compared to Rick’s long, spindly legs.  The blanket that Stan offered him last night was draped on top of Rick’s torso and thighs, but had not been properly laid out across his frame.  His arms were sprawled above his head and his hands brushed up against the wall behind him.  Rick snored because of his open mouth, but it was just quiet enough for it to not be annoying.  It was complemented by the ticking of the large clock on the wall, actually.

_ ‘It’s kinda nice, not being in total silence,’ _ Stan thought to himself.  He finished off his noodles and threw his box away.

Stan walked over to Rick with the intention of waking him, but he stood above Rick for just a moment to examine his sleeping body.  He was much thinner than Stan, maybe thinner than he should be.  There was also a certain musk about him.  It was also far, far too strong and it probably meant it was about time for a shower.  A shave may also be needed, because the facial hair that Rick had grown was too long for stubble and not enough for a full beard.  There was a freckle on his lip, near his laugh lines.  His eyelashes were dark.  There were shallow lines on his forehead from furrowing and raising his grown-together eyebrows.

_ ‘God, I’m being such a creep.’ _

Stan cleared his throat. Rick didn’t stir aside from mumbling something in his sleep.

“Hey,” he said at a normal speaking volume.  He then put his hand on Rick’s shoulder, shaking him a bit.  “Rick, get up.  I got some food.”

Rick took in a breath and his eyelids fluttered open.  He groggily looked up at Stan, running a hand through his messy hair, and muttered something like ‘good morning’ under his breath.

“I got takeout,”  Stan said. He stepped out of the living room and over to the kitchen table. “Do you mind?”

Rick shook his head as he stretched and yawned.  He pushed the foot of the recliner to a close with his feet and walked to Stan.  He slouched down in a chair beside Stan and held his face up with his elbows on the table.  “Do y-you have any coffee?” Rick asked, looking at Stan.

Stan got up and walked to the coffee pot.  There was some leftover coffee in it from the morning.  “Do you mind if I just heat it back up?  It hasn’t been here for  _ too _ long, I think.”

“Sure,” Rick replied.  He pulled his disposable wooden chopsticks from the red wrapper and unboxed his noodles.  “D-d-do you mind if I use your shower?”

“You better.  Do you have any clothes you want me to wash too?”

Rick smirked.  “W-well, aren’t  _ you _ a little housewife?”  He shoved a bundle of noodles in his mouth and slurped them grossly.

Stan brought the reheated coffee to Rick in a Mystery Shack mug.  “Do you want me to wash ‘em or not?”

“Sure, w-whatever.”

“Then don’t complain.”

Rick snickered, leaned down to his messenger bag on the floor and pulled out a flask, then promptly poured a slug or two of hard liquor in his coffee.  He fell silent as he ate, picking out and slurping down every noodle in the box.

“So, what do you do for money?”  Stan asked, after he was sure that Rick was done.

Rick tapped his chopsticks against the cardboard container as he thought. “I’ve been traveling around with my band for a few years, but now I mostly invent things,” he said passively, wiping a little bit of noodle grease off his chin with the back of his hand.

“Oh, so like that little thingie you were working on in the livingroom?”  Stan said, pointing in that specific direction.

Rick looked over at his work.  “Yeah, it’s still a work in progress, though.  I’m just tinkering to keep my mind busy at this point.”

“Well hey, I have a machine  _ I’ve  _ been working on,” Stan worked into the conversation, hoping to come across as casual and not  _ too  _ hopeful. Hope was for suckers, anyway. “Would you mind taking a look after you shower?”

“I got a gig tonight.  I’ll take a look after, alright?”  Rick got up from the table and pulled off his shirt, then his socks, then unbuttoned his jeans.

“Woah, woah, what are you doing?”  The chair fell behind Stan as he stood suddenly.

“Don’t have a fucking cow, Stan.  You said y-you were going to wash my clothes for me.”  Rick was beginning to take off his pants, and he wasn’t wearing a damned thing under them.

Stan averted his eyes, and picked up the clothing trail after Rick.  After that, he walked all the way across the house to the laundry room to wash Rick’s clothes.  He looked at them with a bit of a strained expression.

They were both disgusting and concerning.  The armpits of his thin sweater had small worn holes along the seams, and they were still damp from when Rick was wearing it.  

‘ _ At least he used deodorant _ ,’ Stan thought.  

The color was a pale teal, as if it had been worn and washed until it had faded.  Stan  _ did _ often see him in this, so maybe it was just his favorite shirt.  The jeans seemed a bit newer, though the fabric was a bit stiff and rigid with continual wear, he could probably prop ‘em up in the corner.  

Stan remembered the advice he’d gotten when he was just seventeen, ‘ _ You can wear jeans for about a week before you need to wash them _ .’  It’s how he managed to get himself by when he was living in his car.  He’d wear all his clothes ‘til he couldn’t, then scrape some change together to wash all of his clothes in one load.  Then he’d steal from the vending machine while no one was looking or until the owner got wise. 

Seems like Rick didn’t really abide by that rule of thumb (like Stan hadn’t, at times, during some of the rougher days on the road. When running for your life, hygiene tends to fall to the wayside).

Stan cranked the washing machine’s knob to start the water as he carefully dropped Rick’s clothes inside.  Stan then dumped half of his laundry basket into the machine, so he didn’t have to waste a wash on just a few articles of clothing.  He then poured detergent, fabric softener, and a bit of Borax on the load for good measure.

He let the thin metal door flop down with a clank and pushed his laundry basket back in the corner before starting the wash.

\--

After the clothes were dried, Stan sloppily folded them into two piles on top of the dryer.  He admired his handiwork before shuffling back into the livingroom.  Rick hadn’t come out of the bathroom yet, and Stan absentmindedly hoped that he didn’t slip and die or something. That would suck for both of them, really.

Stan flipped on the tv and sat down in his recliner.  His butt had begun to make an imprint on the seat that would remain even after he stood up. It was nice to stay in one place long enough for him to even  _ have  _ a favourite chair with his own footrest and butt imprint. He promised himself not to ever take that fact for granted. 

He pulled the lever on the side for his feet to be held up, a must after such a long, hard day scamming money off suckers, and absently watched the television.  He fell asleep just moments after laying there.

\--

Rick made his way around the corner of the alleyway, wearing his freshly cleaned clothes.  He walked his way down the street, boots hitting the concrete of the sidewalk, and nonchalantly looking for Squanchy’s van.

The street was full of night life.  Sleazy people, sleazy like him, hanging out outside of clubs and on street corners, some buskers playing guitar riffs, neon signs up above. That’s all Rick sees most days, night life.  It’s just his style, too.  Drinks are easy to find.  The standards are lowered.  The sky is easy on the eyes.

Rick looked up.   _ ‘This is a good sky,’ _ he thought, taking a sip of Jack and Coke from his flask.  The light pollution from the busy city hardly blurred the stars hanging in the deep vastness of space.  Large teal clouds parted to show off the rings that stretched around each bright crescent moons.

A clearly drunken creature brushed up against Rick’s shoulder as it passed by.  This snapped Rick back to focus.  It was mostly humanoid, despite being covered in thick, slimy fur.  They made eye contact and Rick glared at it for a moment as he kept walking.

Squanchy’s van was up ahead, parting the streaming crowds of club regulars and visitors alike.  “Hey, Rick!  Ready to squanch this gig up?”  Squanchy said with a smile and wave.

Rick’s anger dampened when he finally reached the van.  He bumped Squanchy’s fist.  “H-Hell yeah I am.  I’m already-already wrecked!”  Rick let out a short laugh as he pulled his case out of the back of the van.  “We got any roadies helpin’ out?  I don’t want to carry all this shit.”

“Yeah, Birdperson is inside catching us some squanchers right now!”  Squanchy drug a large case out and clamored it on his back.

“Yeah, jus-just lift with your legs, Squanch,”  Rick drank from his flask and watched Squanchy hoist the case to the rusted white door labeled ‘Backstage.’

Rick stayed to watch the van.  People all around him were chatting and laughing and drinking and smoking.  He chose not to participate at the moment.  He didn’t mind watching for the moment, there would be plenty of time to party and fuck after he performs.

\--

Stan woke himself up with one of his own snores.  He lazily opened his eyes.  He did not particularly care for the current program on the television,  _ ‘You can only watch so many Cher reruns,’ _ he thought, before noticing the time.  It was 8:27 pm and Stan felt the sudden heat of alarm.  The hardware store closes at 9.

Stan quickly rushed to the television to press the power knob in before jogging out of the house.  He slung his jacket on and pulled the keys from the right pocket.

\--

Rick and Birdperson were putting the final touches on the set while Squanchy entertained the club-goers.  It was a fairly large club, with a few tables up close to the stage where a few dozen people were crowded around, and there were more people in the back, waiting for the music to begin so they could resume dancing. There were all sorts here, from globnars to klorblorks, from aliens with twelve limbs to aliens with none. They all bumped up against one another, cheering as Squanchy hyped them up with a few dumb jokes he had lined up.

Birdperson adjusted Squanchy’s drum set before blandly walking over to Rick.  “Rick,” he spoke in a monotone.

Rick looked up from plugging cords into one of the speakers.  “Yeah?”

“I am concerned for your safety.  Where are you currently residing?”

“I found somewhere on Earth for a while.  It’s no big deal, I plan on leaving soon,” Rick stated, going back to fiddling with the wires.

“Where will you be after that?”  He stared unyieldingly at Rick.

Rick scoffed.  “I don’t know, Birdperson, I’m not really one for planning for future.”  He let his smile fade.  He hated the thoughts bubbling in his head when he let his mind wander.  He knocked back another slug from his flask.

Birdperson kneeled, placing a hand on Rick’s back.  “Are you alright, Rick?  It has only been several years since you left your wife.  This may be causing you to make poor decisions.”

“Birdperson, you know better than anyone that I won’t let myself get killed.  Besides that, what are you worried about?”  Rick glanced up at him.

“Your happiness and well-being is an important issue to me.”  Birdperson pet Rick’s back where his hand lay.

Rick smiled at that.  He took a long breath and sighed.  “Thanks.  At least someone gives a shit.”

The crowd cheered as Squanchy announced that they would be starting.

“Come on, you Squanchers!” he said, gesturing to the two of them. “Let’s get squanching!”

Rick picked up his bass and strummed a few chords to make sure it was still in tune. “Great. L-let’s rock n’ roll.”

Rick basked in the cheers as he strolled out to centerstage. He shot a wink at an audience member, with lavender skin, who blushed bright purple and hid behind their hands.

Rick quickly laced a jumping bass line with Squanchy’s drumming, forming the foundation of their best known song.  The crowd went wild when they realized what was being played, and Rick smirked and thought that  _ ‘This is gonna be a good show.’ _

\--

Stan made it just before the store closed and made it back about half an hour before 11.  He always hated working  _ too  _ late on his project.  When he entered the secret passway behind the vending machine, his face was solemn and serious.  He hated being there.  He hated going down there with his lantern, all alone and closed off from the world.  He hated everything having to do with what was down here.  But God, was he going to fix his mistake. He was gonna fix it no matter how long it took.

He rode the elevator to the level containing the machine.  Self doubt and hatred consumed him when he stepped in the room.  All of his nights were held between these half-working modules and experiments.

Stan laid his shopping bags and lantern down in the large space containing the portal.  He worried about whether he bought the right things or whether he just wasted a ton of money on things he didn’t need.

He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. What was he thinking? How the hell was he gonna fix this? He was just the dumbass brother of a genius who fucked up all the goddamn time and all he was good for was scamming losers. What could he possibly do to fix this royally huge mistake? Nothing, that’s what.

Well, he still had to try.

He cracked open one of the panels on the side of the machine and pulled out frayed wires, replacing them with new ones and twisting them into place. He screwed the panel back on and opened up another one, wondering idly if he broke the machine even more.

Thirty minutes later and he’d replaced some more wires, but that’s all he’d been able to work out. He was close to tearing his hair out over this dumb machine. Every minute he spent with it made him feel stupider and more pathetic. Frustration overwhelmed him. He wanted to kick it and walk out, but that wasn’t even close to being an option.

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. He only had one of his brother’s journals, he had no idea how many there were, and the only mechanical knowledge he had revolved primarily around cars. It was gonna take a miracle to get this up and running.

“Hey, w-what’s up?”

Stan dropped the wrench he was holding and whipped around. Rick was standing behind him, mostly drunk and smelling like a bar.

“How the hell you get down here?” Stan nervously confronted Rick, who was casually smoking a cigarette.

“The-the vending machine attached to the wa-uuuur-all was unhinged.  I thought that wall looked a bit odd, but I couldn’t exactly see why un-until now…”

Rick walked around Stan, taking a deep drag.  He examined what was before him.

“This is some pretty advanced shit, ma-made with archaic mediums…”  He spoke softly.

Stan was baffled.   _ ‘How could he know what any of this is?  Isn’t he homeless?’ _

“Uh, yeah, I--” Stan began weakly.

“You didn’t do shit, Stan,”  Rick said aside.  Stan kept quiet and still.  Rick kept examining everything before him.  “This is way beyond you,” Rick turned to look at Stan.  “No offence, really, it’s-it’s even hard for me to get, without all the pieces.  Where are the prints?”

Stan made a quick glance at where he kept the journal before getting a grip and questioned Rick.  “Okay, what the  _ fuck _ .  I don’t understand how you could just...This makes no sense, Rick, I-I’ve been working on this for years and you tell me that it’s beyond me?”  His face was contorted with emotion.  “You don’t know who I am, you don’t know what I’m  _ capable _ of!”

Rick held the cigarette between his teeth as he spoke, throwing his hands up in a defensive position.  “Listen here, Stan, I-I-I ain’t telling you shit about yourself.” He took a drag and kept the cigarette between his fingers.  “Y-y-you’re right, I don’t really know you too well.  But to be honest, I-I thought we were friends?”  Rick’s face was hard but caring, with a pinched brow but concerned eyes.  “You know, I was real with you, and I just wanted to help you out, you know, since you aren’t askin’ me for shit besides to look at this,” he said awkwardly.  “A-all things considered, you’ve been nice to me and not expectin’ shit.”

Stan’s expression softened and he let his shoulders relax.  He took a moment to look over Rick and let what he said sink in.  “Well… I guess I didn’t give you much of a chance…”

“F-fuck no, you didn’t.  Now ha-hand me some circuit boards, a soldering iron, and another cigarette,” Rick all but ordered, holding out a sweaty hand to accept the items.

\--

They’d worked in silence for about an hour before Rick couldn’t stand Stan’s moping anymore, primarily in the form of listless sighs, pacing back and forth, and pretending to fix parts of the machine that weren’t broken.

“Hey, so w-w-who built, all this anyway?” he grunted.

Stan remained silent for a moment, pondering whether or not to trust Rick with his sensitive information, but he was feeling tired and vulnerable.  Rick was obviously drunk, so he may not remember, anyway.

“My brother.  He made some sort of weird portal-wormhole-thing and, uh, he…”  Stan sighed at his mistake.  He gritted his teeth in regret and kept replacing burned wires.  He was at least sure about rewiring.  “We had a falling out and the machine turned on.  Then it fucked up after he fell in and wouldn’t work, anymore.”

“Huh,” was all Rick had to say about that.  “Did he leave anything behind, notes or somethin’?  H-how long have you been working on this?”

Stan chuckled.  “You sound like the feds.  Aren’t you smart enough to do this on your own, or whatever?”

Rick scoffed, “Of course I am.  B-but it’ll take time to fix, and I-I don’t know how long I’ll stay in one place.”  Rick replaced the circuitry he was working on and put out the butt of the cigarette he’d been working on. “Places to do and things to go, y-y’know?”

Stan pretended not to be disappointed by this as he absently fiddled with the wires.  “So, heh, you’re pretty smart then, eh?”

Rick frowned deeply.  “Yeah, obviously.  I’m a _ genius _ .”

He looked up at Stan.  Stan wore a cold, bitter expression, but his eyes weren’t focussed on Rick.  “W-what’s with that face?”

Stan shook his head, still not making eye contact. “Nothin’.  I think I’m just tired,” he replied.

Rick looked at Stan for a moment before stepping over the mess of machine parts to get to him.  He squatted right beside him, so he was about eye level with Stan.

“What?”  Stan looked at him.  His eyes were certainly tired.  He looked like he spent every night of his life down here, from the looks of the food containers and beer cans.  He had fine lines under his eyes.

“Y-you’ve been down here for a long time, huh?  You work all day and work all night, and for what?  W-who’s to say your brother is even waiting on you?”

Stan was struck with hurt and he furrowed his eyebrows.  “ _ What _ did you just say to me?”

“I-I said, you deserve a life as much as everybody else.”  Rick’s expression was hard to read. Stan thought that he looked stern, but also like he was looking out for his wellbeing, and Stan hated being talked down to.  “Let’s have a party tomorrow night.  Y-you need to cut loose and de-stress, maybe even get laid.”

Stan looked to the ground with a frown.

“Well?”

Stan scratched the back of his hair awkwardly before mumbling, “Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve gotten myself into some trouble… The fun kind, anyhow.”

Rick gave an excited smile.  “Hell yeah, I-I-I can get you into some  _ real  _ fun kinda trouble.  Now shut up.  You’re going to bed i-uuuurp-iif I gotta drag you over to it myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bst: yo just wanted to thank everyone for reading and waiting with us over the hiatus. i read every last one of the comments and appreciate every one of them and it means so much to me. it helps me stay motivated and keep me pushing forward!  
> the next chapter is planning to be very big, about this ch length or longer, so like, question--would you rather have a longass chapter that takes time to write or have one part at a time?
> 
> runny: ay homies whats up? I read all the comments too (from various internet cafes in Peru), and we're glad to be back at it again!


	6. The Party, Part One:  Let's Get Wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick gets the party going. Stan tries to have a fun time.
> 
> (hello my dudes. long time, no update. more on that in the authors note.)

Rick was busy the next day getting the party set up.  He hardly showed his face all day, but that didn’t really matter to Stan. He was giving tours all day and didn’t have time to loiter around and drink beer, anyway. Stan absently wondered what Rick was doing to decorate and he hoped that he wasn’t destroying the event room in the process.

Stan waltzed up to another display stand, covered with a slightly tattered cloth. His tour group was following close behind, snapping pictures of each other and the displays. 

“... and  _ here _ we have the rarest oddity in my collection, the likes of which has not been seen by mankind for billions of years…”  He slowly and dramatically tore the curtain back, revealing... “The Dino Baby!”

The ‘exhibit’ was nothing more than a pterodactyl mask glued to a babydoll body, but Stan believed it was more than that, he believed that it was his duty to bewilder and entertain the guests to their fullest extent. And, by the gasps and chuckles of the onlooking crowd and scattered applause, he had done his job right. Who cares about  _ facts  _ as long as it was  _ entertaining,  _ right?

Stan beamed.  “Thank you, ladies, and gents, and, uh, you there…” he said, referring to a very old person in the back that he was not quite sure fit into either of those categories.

By the end of the tour, Stan just felt  _ good _ .  He had lead seven groups through his exhibits and none of them left with a frown or asked for their money back.  He usually felt conflicted between worry and self-hatred, but he had people generally liking him, or at least enjoying his performance.  It made him not feel as bad, at least for a little while.

Stan closed up the shop for the day, roughly around seven. ‘ _ Maybe I should check on Rick _ ,’ he thought to himself.

He walked over to the event room and opened the door, half nervous about what state the room would be in.

It wasn’t a disaster, thankfully. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when he realized  _ that. _ The tables were pushed up against the walls, the stage was set up at the front of the room, with two enormous speakers at either end of it. The speakers looked like they’d been partially cobbled together with materials found at the dump or ripped out of the walls of his house, so he made a mental note not to go anywhere near them when they were sparking dangerously like that. There was a drum kit on stage, too, and two mics hooked up to the speakers.

Rick jumped off the stage in excitement, running over to Stan.  He slapped both of Stan’s shoulders in a passionate grip. “I-I invited everyone!  Are you re-ready to get wrecked?”

“Everyone? Who’s  _ everyone? _ ”

Rick grinned. “J-just, you know…  _ everyone!  _ So, h-how ‘bout it? R-ready to get fucked up?”

Stan was concerned for a moment, hoping no one would interfere with the basement, hoping that nothing was going to go wrong, hoping the displays would stay intact.  But thinking this way was what was making Stan lame, like an old man, or worse.   _ Like his father.  _ Eugh.

Stan shook off the bad thoughts with a chuckle.  “I sure hope I am.  Are you good, or do you need some help setting up?”  It sounded more like a statement than a question.

Rick began to walk off.  “I ain’t  _ incompetent _ , Stan, I got this all handled.  Do you know how many parties I’ve b-been responsible for?  Just go lock any doors that y-y-you don’t want anyone snooping ‘round in.” He tossed Stan a hand gesture to make him go away.

“Yeesh, don’t hold back…” Stan said with an eye-roll.  He didn’t take the comment to heart, though.  “I’ll set up some tables, I guess,” he absently mentioned to no one.

Rick already set up a beer pong table, it even had a keg beside it, but Stan felt that he could do something a bit less crass.

He picked a table up and placed it on its side.   _ ‘And now I just need a…’ _ Stan walked to the nearest storage closet and took a long wooden board.  He carefully laid it on top of the table, giving it a counter-like appearance.   _ ‘Yeah, that’ll work.’ _  He dusted his hands off and examined his work.   _ ‘Oh, and…’ _ He gathered mixes, cocktail ingredients, and alcohol, and put them behind the table.  “Heh, this is a bar I can really  _ get behind _ ...Heh…”

He examined his work, patting the top.  He was proud of himself.

“Oh!  We need ice.”  Stan looked about the room, scouring for any sign of Rick.

\--

Rick was outside, taking a drag from his crush filter Camel.  In the evening light, his ashen skin practically glowed.  He was shirtless, his chest was lightly dusted with dark hair.  The pendant of his long necklace hung below his chest.  His stomach was a thin enough to give shadow to his bottom two ribs but Stan didn’t find it off-putting.  He had more of a happy trail than chest hair.  His dark jeans clung to his body almost a little  _ too  _ well, all the way to his heavy leather boots.

He wore a callous expression as Stan examined his body.  “What are you staring at me for?”  He brushed Stan’s shoulder as he passed.  “Ain’t you suppose to be straight, or, something?  Lookin’ a little queer there, buddy.”  He smirked, looking back on him while he took a swig of scotch from his flask.

“Whatever, Rick,” he muttered as he shifted his gaze.  “I just wanted to tell you that I’m going for ice.  Nobody likes warm drinks.”

Rick raised his eyebrow.  “Nah, I can do that for you.  I-I gotta pick up some friends at the edge of town, anyway.”

“You sure, man? If you’re picking up friends, you don’t have to walk, I got a car--”

“Stan. I don’t give a shit. I’ll get the ice.”

“Thanks.”

“W-whatever. D-don’t kiss ass, Stan. N-not very charismatic.” Rick took another drag on his cigarette as he walked away, waving his hand carelessly. “Back in a bit.”

Stan huffed.  “Get enough, okay?  I don’t wanna have to run and get more.”

“Sure thing. Oh, and, uh, Stan?”  He turned to face him, walking backwards as he spoke.  “Do me a favor and change out of that ugly-ass suit.”  He turned back to watch where he was going. “Y-y-you look like a loser,” he called out.

Stan scoffed, but decided that Rick was right.  Though the suit made him look trim, the outfit  _ was _ completely ridiculous.  He didn’t want to look like a guy in the show biz at a party. That wasn’t the right way to go about it. He went inside after he watched Rick walk down the trail towards town.

Stan searched through his closet and dresser to find something both stylish and comfortable.  He didn’t feel like wearing a simple t-shirt for the party. After all it  _ was  _ his party, and he was determined to be on his game.

He settled on a nice, clean pair of fitted slacks.  He hoped the pleated front would perhaps do him a favor.  For the shirt, he chose a white button-up.  He felt confident and slick, rolling the sleeves above his elbows and keeping the top few buttons undone.  He ruffled his hair to fluff it back out after removing his fez.

He strode confidently to the mirror hung on his closet door to see how he looked.

His hair had faded grey near his temples, giving him the rustic silver fox look, he thought.  His shirt was unbuttoned, so he could see his partly greying chest hair underneath, as well as a hint of muscle that he’d managed to keep over the years.  His gold chain glistened in the dim light of his bedroom.  He shoved the shirt into his pants, which flattered his form. He’d never been thin, but he always had a knack for dressing in ways that made him look fitter than he was. He looked good, and he felt pretty good, too.

Then he looked at his face.  His hazel eyes lost so much light over the years.  They were held above bags and below stress-set eyebrows.  That was the one thing that he had that  _ really  _ looked like Ford’s… they had the same eyes.  They looked just like they did on Ford when… when… 

“God, you’re such a fuck-up, Stanley.  Why can’t you be more like your brother?” he mumbled.  He was so sick of himself.

He was so sick of seeing  _ his _ face in the mirror.  Though, he did feel like it was a good punishment, to be reminded of what he did every day.  He’d already had a horrible time leaving home in the first place.  He killed Ford’s dreams.  Now he killed Ford.

Stan was worthless, and no one was going to convince him otherwise.  The good feeling from the tours and the excitement from the party faded as quickly as it had been brought on.

He willed himself to imagine how he would look now using his own face as a reference.  Was Ford going grey?  Did his forehead wrinkle?  Was he even alive?

Stan cupped his face with his hands, overcome with grief.  He furrowed his eyebrows until it hurt and forced himself not to cry.

Then he steeled himself.  He pulled himself together.  He had work to do.  He would get him back, there was simply no room for failure.  ‘ _ I’ll keep trying ‘til I’m dead. _ ’

He cleared his mind, staring blankly into the mirror.  He looked good.  That’s that.

Stan walked around the shack, numb with depression, and locked all the doors and turned off all the lights to the rooms he didn’t want snooped through.  He made sure all the important things were secured, even code-locked the vending machine, and hoped that none of the party-goers would break his shit for kicks.

By the time he was finishing up, Rick was wandering back up the hill.  Well, Rick and the ‘friends’ he spoke of.  Each of them carried two bags of ice.

Stan flashed them a big showman smile to cover up his guilt.

Rick was in a considerably better mood it seemed.  He was telling jokes and laughing and carrying on until he got to Stan.

“Hey, Stan!  I’d like to introduce you to Squanchy and Birdperson!” Rick exclaimed while slinging his arms around the both of them.

Stan took a moment to take all of this in.  He was looking at a short cat...thing?  The other ‘friend’ looked more normal, though his hair and outfit were definitely odd.  Also he wouldn’t break eye contact with Stan, and that made Stan a little uneasy.

“Hello,” Birdperson said in a monotone voice.

“Uh, hey--hey there, big guy,” Stan said nervously, holding his hand out to shake.

Birdperson didn’t move. He tilted his head and his feathers fluffed out.

Stan didn’t lower his hand. They stared at each other blankly until Squanchy put his ice bags down and joined in on the conversation with a “Hey, Stan!  Heard a lot about ya!” and slapped a handshake on Stan’s open palm.

Stan was baffled.  He didn’t understand what he was seeing right in front of him, what was holding his hand, but he was not about to make any enemies by being rude right before the party.  “Hey, Squanchy!  Can I call you Squanch?” he said with a wink.

“Squanch yeah, you can!” He let go of Stan’s hand.  “Birdperson, let’s get rolling!”

Birdperson gave Rick a quick glance.  “Goodbye, Rick.  I will see you inside.”

The pair carried the bags of ice to the party.

Rick smirked at Stan.  “So, what do you think?  Can we get this party started?”  He offered his flask.

He looked at Rick hesitantly for a moment before taking it and beaming.  “You got it, buddy!”

\--

At first, only a trickle of party-goers found their way to the house, but it didn’t take long before a mob flooded the building.  The music pounded in everyone’s ears and the beat rocked the air in their lungs.  Well, if they had lungs.  Most of the guests were far from human, Stan was pretty sure, but it didn’t matter much to him.  He’d seen worse in Ford’s journal and out and around Gravity Falls. He didn’t care about whether or not some of his guests had suction cups where their fingertip should be, just so long as they didn’t break anything. All he wanted was to have a fun time.

“H-hey, watch this, Stan!”  Rick shouted before turning around.  Without looking behind him, he threw up the ping pong ball and it sank into the solo cup in front of Stan at the opposite side of the table.  Rick didn’t even have to turn around to know that he made it, he just raised his arms to bask in the cheers from the crowd they’d acquired throughout the game.

Stan narrowed his eyes as he drank, but he couldn’t help but to smile brightly.  This was fun, the most fun that he’d  _ ever  _ had, as far as he could remember.

It was now Stan’s turn, and he plucked the ball from his cup and rinsed it off in the water cup.

“Ha, I-I-I’ve already got you beat, Stan.  I might as well go ahead and drink this! Y-you ain’t gonna get it in!” Rick jeered, picking up a solo cup.

Before Rick could take the beer to his lips, Stan shot the ball at the table.  With great speed, and a little bit of a backwards spin, it bounced off the table and pegged Rick smack in the forehead before plopping down into the cup in his hand.

The crowd howled in favor, and Stan beamed brightly with confidence. “Drink up, princess!”

All Rick could do was click his tongue, pick the ball out, and drink.  The game was over, and though Rick may have won, Stan kept all the glory in the end.

They stepped away together, Rick slinging his arm around Stan’s beefy neck and laughing.  “Next time we play, I-I’m taking your glasses off.”

Stan subconsciously glided his forefinger down the scar on his forearm.  “Ha, you won, what are you bitching about?”

As a group of people passed by, Rick noticed somebody in the crowd and widened his eyes.  “Oh, hey!  I’ll see you later, Stan! I-I-I’m gonna go fuck somebody!”  Rick scampered off, chugging from his flask as he went.

Stan watched him go, thinking that he should at least make an effort to socialize with someone other than Rick. There were lots of people here. Who knows… he might get lucky, too.

\--

Rick was in his element.  He had his arms around two lovely creatures, each sat on a knee.

“So, what’s _ your _ name, ba-babe?”  He laced his words with a cool, attractive tone.

“S’ylxia,” the dark-scaled figure hummed.  She wrapped her upper limbs around Rick’s waist.

Rick chuckled contentedly.

“And this is my best friend in the multiverse, Charlim!”  The other smiled, revealing their wide, split-lip mouth stretched across their entire face.

“Hey there, Charlim,” Rick cooed with a nasty grin.

Rick bounced the two of them up and down on his knees.  They giggled and pressed their ‘hands’ to his chest for balance.

“You from around this quadrant?  How’s that Quazillian life?”  He held them close with his hands on their backsides.  They only giggled in reply.

Charlim laid their head on his shoulder while S’ylxia pressed gentle kisses to Rick’s cheek.

“Alright, babes.  Le-let’s cut to the chase.  Have either of y’all been with a human?”

S’ylxia gasped in surprise.  She playfully hit Rick’s chest, but her cheeks and facial appendages flushed.  “You’re so bad!”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it, baby.”  Rick grinned devilishly.

Charlim, however, leaned in closer and brought their lips to Rick’s ear.  “I’d  _ love _ to find a human.  Are you aware of any humans interested in intercourse?”

Rick raised his eyebrows in surprise when a tentacle slid up his thigh.  “I can think of one...” He turned to whisper on their lips.

In a moment, their foreheads brushed together and Rick pressed his lips hard to theirs.  The flavor was foreign on Rick’s tongue.  It tasted like butterscotch and lemon-lime soda, sticky and sweet, but still tangy.

S’ylxia sighed. “Hey, you have to share!”  She kissed and nibbled at Rick’s collar for attention, leaving pink and red bruises.

He was expertly sucking on Charlim’s tongues and biting their split lips while grabbing at S’ylxia’s thighs under her skirt.  She led his hand further up in reply, biting his neck to earn a reward.

“Rick,”  A loud, monotone voice bluntly interrupted them.

Rick parted himself from Charlim and they began kissing his jaw.  “Yeah, BP?  I’m-I’m a little busy--”

“Rick, it is time to perform.”

Rick sighed.  “Gotta split, I guess.  Catch you both later?”

They reluctantly got up from the couch with a few whines of protest.  S’ylxia pouted and her face appendages drooped.

“Can’t wait to watch you play,  _ handsome _ ,”  Charlim chirped as they quickly brushed their tentacle over Rick’s crotch.  “I’ll be waiting,” they spoke with a sharp, excited smile.

“ _ No puedo esperar, culo caliente _ ,” Rick said with a flirtatious purr before heading toward the stage.

\--

Stan was doing fairly well at this party. He honestly had to pat himself on the back.

He’d managed to grab a moment with that girl with the lavender skin he’d seen earlier, and he was successfully chatting her up.

“So, sweetheart,” he spouted nervously, “Where are you from?”  He gently placed his hand at the end of her appendage.

“Shirie,” she stated confidently, blowing a bubble with her gum.

He slowly pulled his hand away, trying to keep a brave face for her as he took his hand off of hers.  Stringy slime kept their hands connected until he quickly wiped his palm off on a cocktail napkin, out of sight.

“Ah, where is that again?” he asked as if he only needed to be reminded.

“Armada Galaxy Zeta, so not far off.”  She smiled, her eyes glowing with bioluminescence.

“Wow,” Stan muttered.  “You’re real pretty, you know that?”  He smiled gently.

She seemed to appreciate that comment.  She beamed as she slopped her cocktail, into what Stan thought were her eyes, and the orifices squelched messily around the mixture.

Fluids dripped off her face, dripping on Stan’s shoe, and he couldn’t take it anymore.  He hurriedly gulped down his scotch and told the  _ thing _ he had to go to the bathroom.  He took his glass with him.

The crowd was hazy, be it from the air (lazy with smoke), or perhaps something else (alcohol, alien intervention, etc.).  Stan’s head swam as he split the crowd with his broad shoulders.

The music stopped and was abruptly greeted with mic feedback.

As partygoers negatively reacted in their own strange ways, cringing or blubbering or shrieking inhumanly. Rick cleared his throat, projected through the speakers, to get everyone’s attention.

“Hey everybody, how’s it going?” he boomed.  The edge of the stage was flooded with excited figures, leaving Stan more room to walk.  Though, he decided to stay for a moment.

“We’re the Flesh Curtains, and we’re gonna rock your world!”

The crowd’s energy was infectious.  Both Stan and Rick found themselves smiling.  Stan was interested in seeing what was in store, if only for one song.

Rick pulled the strap of his navy blue bass around his shoulders, swaggering to his end of the stage so Bird Person could take the mic.  When he got to his position on the stage, he presented the world with a dazed smile and slapped out a quick bass riff to see if his instrument was in tune.  The crowd could not hold in their excitement.

The band looked after each other for a signal of being ready.  When they were, Squanchy tapped them off.

Feeling pleasantly buzzed, Stan swayed to the beat and bass.  ‘ _ Wow, didn’t know he was this good. _ ’  He chuckled.  The house was thumping with strange, but  _ good _ music.  Bird person’s wailing into the mic was misplaced, and a bit scary, at first, but it was blending with the song like music was invented for Bird Person’s voice in this moment.

After the second song, Stan actually had to go to the bathroom. 

Stan left when Rick began jeering the crowd.  There was no line to the bathroom, so he took full advantage of the situation.

Once he locked the door behind him, he went through the motions of relieving himself.  He wiped the piss off the seat with toilet paper where he’d missed. He stepped over to the sink and twisted the squeaky faucet. The water was rusted and brown when he first turned it on, and he waited until it ran clear to put his hands under the lukewarm water. Soap and everything. He liked the feeling of lathering up his hands.

His head was a little woozy. He dragged his gaze up to the mirror to look himself over.

He looked… pretty okay. A little on the scruffy side, what with the stubble, the button popped on his collar, and the slightly bloodshot quality of his eyes. He smiled at his reflection experimentally. Yep, he still looked pretty good.

The music from the party was barely muffled by the bathroom door. Stan winced a little, cradling his forehead with his hand. The smell of smoke was everywhere, it was  _ way  _ too hot in the house, the music was too damn loud, most of the people there were speaking weird alien languages… damn, he just needed a breather.

He stepped out of the bathroom and pushed his way through the heaving mass of bodies to the exit. There were a few aliens passing what looked like some kind of bong back and forth, but there was a tiny wriggling fish inside it. Even the fish seemed to have red-rimmed eyes.

He finally got to the door to the shop and fumbled in his pockets for his keys. He felt a sticky body bump into him and he ignored it  _ hard.  _ He finally got the door open with his shaking hands, closed it behind him, and let out a breath.

It was quiet in the shop. It was probably one of two rooms in the shack that were untouched… this room, and the basement. The bobbleheads were on the shelf, the weird taxidermied monsters were untouched, everything was just as it should be, down to the last splinter on the floorboards in front of the counter.

The music pulsed behind him, he still wasn’t far enough away from the party. He just needed a little break to collect his thoughts, that was all. Just a little one.

Stan walked over to the counter, to the curtain to the side of it. He drew aside the curtain, to reveal the ladder.

He contemplated the ladder. Yeah, going up onto the roof was a good idea. He decided to give it a go.

 

AN: hey, im bloodsweettooth.  i have been meaning to update for a while now, but i am having many difficulties and obstacles (getting ready for college, mental shit, etc etc etc) and i have been unable to update for a long time.  i am working on this, however, but i think i want to go on official hiatus for the time being.  i want to hash out several chapters and get back into the groove of writing.  please understand that i love writing on this fic, and i in no way intend to abandon it, but it is much harder to work with the constant fear that i need to update or people will be disheartened.  so, i hope you'll be comforted to know that the fic will have more time to be developed, and dozens of pages will flood these chapters soon.  love you guys.  here, have the first part of this super lorg chapter that ive been working on for a while.  hope you like!


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